


light seeps in

by Ester



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Gift Giving, I mean BARELY, Idols, Injury Recovery, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:08:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25129810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ester/pseuds/Ester
Summary: “It’s an air humidifier. And a fan,” Jeonghan calls out, after turning the box over in his hands a couple of times and googling the incomprehensible name that is more numbers than letters, “A really fucking expensive one.”// Jeonghan gets gifts and tries to give one.
Relationships: Choi Seungcheol | S.Coups/Yoon Jeonghan
Comments: 24
Kudos: 162





	light seeps in

**Author's Note:**

> My first attempt at idol-verse. The setting is inspired by Seventeen's end of 2019 as both Seungcheol and Jeonghan take breaks from performing. But the timeline and the geographical locations have been changed and are not attempting to emulate reality. As this is still more closely related to real life than my other fics, I want to loudly reiterate that this is a work of fiction. What I'm writing here does not equal my opinions on the real life members of SVT, their personalities, relationships, or their actions. It's fake. 
> 
> Mild discussion of injuries/illness. One swear word I already dropped in the summary. Some might find this lightly angst-y.

**1.**

Canada is freezing in November. Even with the heating cranked up in his hotel room, wrapped in a thick duvet, Jeonghan feels like his bones are cold. His head has ached for a week, his heart keeps pounding at odd hours like a frightened rabbit, and if he gets up too fast his vision goes black. He has done a fair job at keeping it under wraps so far, he thinks; the members aren’t hounding him about it yet.

Usually, Jeonghan wouldn’t have a problem making sure everyone around him knows about how greatly he’s suffering at any given moment; at least when it comes to things like uncomfortable pants or too loud music. But Seungcheol is on sick leave; he’s the oldest now, and the other members are starting to feel the wear and tear of a world tour too. Jeonghan should keep up their spirits, not bring them down with his whining. He has decided to give himself a week to get better, he’s young after all – it’s not like he’s going to keel over from singing and dancing.

There’s a heavy knock on his door. Jeonghan doesn’t even try to get up from his cocoon, just calls out a hoarse _come in_ and wiggles a little on the bed, so he can see more than just the ceiling. Mentally, he pats himself on the back for leaving the door unlocked for situations like this. Joshua keeps telling him someone’s going to rob his luggage one day, but who’s laughing now?

“Hyung!” Mingyu’s beaming face is enough to cheer Jeonghan up at once; like the sun bursting in through clouds. He strides into the room, tall and handsome as always like he’s stepping off a runway, wearing ripped jeans and a silky, carefully tucked white shirt. Looking at him, Jeonghan feels like a very small and scruffy burrito.

“If it isn’t my third favourite dongsaeng,” Jeonghan grins. He feels it fall a little flat, a little tired, but the appropriate effort is there. Mingyu clearly doesn’t agree, as he scrunches his nose and shamelessly gets on the bed, shuffling right next to Jeonghan’s duvet-padded hip.

“I got you something,” Mingyu announces and sets a flat gift box on Jeonghan’s stomach. It’s gleaming blue and wrapped with a cream silk ribbon. It looks expensive. He sneaks a hand free from the duvet burrito to smooth a finger along the silk.

“My favourite dongsaeng,” Jeonghan amends. Mingyu wiggles excitedly, smile wide and bright, little pointy canines on display. 

“Open it!”

“So pushy,” Jeonghan grumbles, but holds out an arm for Mingyu, so he can lever himself to a sitting position. Carefully, he slips off the silk bow and the lid of the box, setting them aside. The whisper thin tissue paper slides away, as Jeonghan lifts up a scarf. It’s a deep jewel green, shiny from how dense the cashmere weave is, and softer than anything. It must be hideously expensive, considering the quality and Mingyu’s taste in clothes.

“Mingoo.”

“You should dress warmer,” Mingyu ignores his admonishing coo, taking the scarf and wrapping it around Jeonghan’s neck thrice with careful hands. He tucks the ends over each other and settles the duvet back around Jeonghan’s shoulders. “You look ill, don’t think no one’s noticed.”

“No one’s said anything,” Jeonghan shrugs, “I’m fine. Just a little tired. Can’t get a good night’s sleep with handsome men barging in at all hours, showering me with presents.”

It doesn’t seem like Mingyu believes him if the look he gives is anything to go by.

“Seungcheol chewed out our unit yesterday for letting you get to the airport without a coat and he’s all the way in Korea, stalking Twitter like a creep. You’re not that sneaky.”

Jeonghan freezes at the mention of his name. Things are difficult between him and Seungcheol, but they’ve tried to keep up a professional atmosphere and it seems to have worked, as Mingyu continues on blithely, seemingly unaware that Jeonghan and their leader haven’t spoken since he returned home to rest. He fusses a little more with Jeonghan’s cocoon, then gets up to tidy the nightstands. He even folds the clothes draped over the back of the chair into neat squares. Jeonghan watches on, trying to glean whether Mingyu knows more than he lets on. He wouldn’t be surprised if he does.

It is not that Jeonghan and Seungcheol have been fighting bitterly behind the members’ backs. It’s just that they haven’t spoken, properly, in a long while. Years, maybe, if Jeonghan is painfully honest with himself. They didn’t so much drift away from each other as they were drawn towards other people; members with less tension, less unspoken potential for trouble. It’s easier to spend time with Seokmin than Seungcheol; Jeonghan doesn’t have to fight an urge to look at his mouth.

“You can take a break too, you know. If you need to. We’ll be fine.”

Mingyu leans on the edge of the desk opposite the bed, arms crossed, head tilted in the way people do when they’re taking stock of something. Jeonghan would prefer not to be perceived like this. He doesn’t bother going for the obvious joking misunderstanding about the group being fine without him. He and Mingyu, more than most two people in their group, have had to become good at discussing things openly. It still surprises him, how differently Mingyu thinks and how starkly opposite their tastes and instincts lie. If they hadn’t gotten good at communicating, they probably wouldn’t still share a stage.

“I know that. I’m sorry I’m making you worried.”

Mingyu scoffs and waves him off, rocking away from the desk and clambering back onto the bed. He switches the television on and gently arranges them into a comfortable spot, using Jeonghan’s shoulder as a place to rest his chin.

“You don’t have to apologise for that. Of course you worry me, I love you.”

“Yeah,” Jeonghan says. They may be different in more ways, but this is what they have in common. “I love you too.”

Jeonghan lies back, bundled up, with Mingyu on his side curved around him like a parenthesis. The TV illuminates the room in flashes of yellow and blue. He feels warm.

**2.**

The box arrives a little after one in the afternoon. It’s fairly big – not big enough for a person, but maybe a dog or several cats, Jeonghan thinks idly as he sets it down on the living room table at their quiet Seoul dorm. It’s just him and Seungcheol, still, the rest are arriving from America in a few days. Their last concert will be tomorrow and Jeonghan is running out of ideas on how to distract himself from the fact that he’s not there. A mystery box is a start.

“What’s that?” Seungcheol asks, as he appears from the bathroom, hair wet and shirt half-buttoned, a towel slung over his shoulders. He doesn’t wait for a reply, just heads towards the kitchen and calls back, “You could fit like four Kkumas in there.”

“Don’t know, just arrived,” Jeonghan answers, smiling a little, as he tears into the packing tape. Seungcheol has spent a lot of his break with his family, but after Jeonghan came back to Seoul, alone and miserable, they’ve managed to find a tentative balance, when they’re at the dorms. It’s still delicate and they spend more time apart than with each other, but it’s easier now than it has been in a long while to be alone with Seungcheol.

Instead of several cats or four Kkumas, the box holds another box with a picture of a space-age contraption. It’s a circle with a light running around the edge held up by a base with several buttons and a water tank. When Jeonghan rummages around the box some more, he also finds a little remote, a cord, and a user manual he already knows he’ll never open.

“It’s an air humidifier. And a fan,” Jeonghan calls out, after turning the box over in his hands a couple of times and googling the incomprehensible name that is more numbers than letters, “A really fucking expensive one.”

“Huh,” is Seungcheol’s contribution, as he wonders back into the living room with a cup of coffee in each hand, holding one out to Jeonghan, “And you didn’t buy it?”

“I wouldn’t spend over half a million to make air wet or cold.”

Seungcheol makes an agreeing noise, which Jeonghan privately thinks is bullshit. The man once spent two million won on a denim jacket. A nice one that Jeonghan has stolen multiple times, but a denim jacket, nonetheless.

“Well, it had my name on it, so it’s mine now, I guess. Do you think if I leave it running long enough it’ll start raining in my room?”

“It might be good for your cough,” Seungcheol says, eyeing the contraption thoughtfully. It catches Jeonghan off-guard to realise he’s noticed it; most of his other symptoms have faded with time – the headaches and the dizziness are absent without the bright stage lighting, but the cough that stops him from sleeping a full night still remains.

The humidifier is nice. It’s silent even when it’s working and Jeonghan hasn’t started coughing after turning it on, though he’s lying on his back on the bed, which is usually the worst position for him. He’s in the middle of a Candy Crush level when a message from Jihoon flashes on the top of his screen.

_did you get it?_

_14:04_

Suddenly, Jeonghan feels like an idiot for not immediately guessing, whom the gift was from. No one aside from Jihoon would spend so much on something so boring.

_the humidifier? yes, looks fancy. thank you uji <3 <3 <3 <3_

_14:04_

The typing animation appears and goes away a couple of times, before Jihoon answers. Jeonghan smiles imagining him struggling with whether to acknowledge the tone or not. It’s always a toss-up with Jihoon; sometimes he ignores it, but often, at least these days, he goes along with it. Jeonghan thinks a little fluff does him good.

_of course. hope it helps with the cough._

_14:06_

_< 3_

_14:06_

_how do you know i cough? are you spying on me~~_

_14:07_

_sc mentioned it. said you don’t sleep the night through._

_14:07_

_haha. he’s a snitch._

_14:20_

_lucky i have my sweet jihoonie who takes care of me~~~~_

_14:20_

_♡(_ _◡_ _‿_ _◡ )_

_14:21_

_oh my god!!!!! <3 <3 <3 <3 cute_

_14:21_

_shut up you’re ruining it_

_14:22_

Jeonghan stares at the conversation for a while, considering it. Then, he gets up and starts rummaging through his dresser drawers.

**3.**

It is the last night before the rest of the group gets back home from tour. Jeonghan and Seungcheol have spent the day fielding sporadic video calls from the kids, who are drunk and rowdy across the world, enjoying the fruits of their labour. Jeonghan tries to imagine the hungover, around-the-clock flight home, but even that isn’t enough to quell the disappointment of not being there. Seungcheol seems to feel the same way if his wan silence is anything to go by, after they finally convince Vernon and Seungkwan to put down the phone and go to bed at four in the morning, California time.

Jeonghan orders food for them and Seungcheol puts on Netflix’ newest and worst reality dating show. They make a bleak picture, eating noodles on the couch while Americans scream in the background. Jeonghan keeps waiting for an opportunity to present itself, for his brain to find the words he wants to say, now that it’s their last moment of relative quiet before the oncoming sweep of spring promotions.

“What is it?” Seungcheol finally asks, after the takeout has been cleared away and they’ve moved onto ice cream. The Americans on TV are still screaming. He’s got his leader voice on – all deep and serious, “You look like you’re about to jump out of your own skin, it’s making me itchy.”

“I need to give you something,” Jeonghan says. He can’t quite bring himself to look Seungcheol in the face, so he looks at his knees instead, sprawled open, lap wide and empty. The face seems like a safer option, then. He plucks out the thing he’s been carrying around all day, while looking for an opening to casually toss it Seungcheol’s way, but of course there hasn’t been one. Very little about their shared youth lends itself to casualty; all of it has been intense and meaningful one way or another.

The team ring looks very small on Jeonghan’s palm, as he holds it out across the couch. It's odd that it’s big enough to have fit onto a twenty-year-old Seungcheol’s finger. On Jeonghan’s it was always a little loose, whenever he’s stolen it or whenever Seungcheol’s caught his wrist and slipped it on whichever finger seemed easiest at the time. They’ve never discussed it; not when they’ve woken up in the same bed with two rings on Jeonghan’s hand, or when they’ve sat in the backseat of a car heading to their first MAMAs, Seungcheol twisting it on and off Jeonghan’s finger like a nervous habit. Jeonghan supposes the symbolism was always clear enough anyway.

“It’s your first one. I know how much mine means to me. I should’ve given it back sooner.” He can’t bring himself to say sorry about keeping it. Seungcheol knows when he’s lying. It’s quite inconvenient.

Seungcheol takes the ring and rolls it around between his fingers. It’s been a little stained over the years. Once they had to turn back one of the vans, because Seungcheol forgot it on the edge of a bathroom sink at Inkigayo. It still catches the light.

“I knew you had it,” Seungcheol says then, smiling and maybe embarrassed, “I kept putting it on you because I wanted you to wear it.” It isn’t surprising. Whether it’s an arm over a shoulder, a bite, a fierce protectiveness over everything and everyone he considers as falling under his care, Seungcheol has always had a possessive streak. It’s a part of what makes him a good leader.

“Yeah,” Jeonghan laughs, “I kept taking it because I wanted someone to look and think _Oh, those two, they go together_.”

It’s oddly easy to talk about now, even though they never managed it then. Like there’s a gap between the tectonic plates of what was and what is now that keeps the danger at bay.

“You should keep it,” Seungcheol says then, his voice a little rough and hasty, “I still want you to have it.” He drops the ring on Jeonghan’s palm, resting on the couch cushion between them, and curls both of their hands around it. His thumb strokes over Jeonghan’s fingers. The tectonic plates crash together.

**Author's Note:**

> i just wanted to write about a humidifier and had to jump through all these hoops lmao. let me know your thoughts, i always love replying to comments and yammering on about things. and come say hi on twitter [@yilinges](https://twitter.com/yilinges) .


End file.
